


Lights in the sky

by NatRoze



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 20:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRoze/pseuds/NatRoze
Summary: Driving at night, Noctis picks up an unfamiliar radio station from a world that no longer exists.





	Lights in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a Night Vale AU but I marathonned over a hundred episodes of Night Vale right after playing through all of XV and tbh if Cecil’s voice came outta the Regalia’s radio at night in the middle of nowhere in Duscae I would not even blink.
> 
> No beta we die like fools

Duscae nights are a surreal kind of peaceful, despite the potential threat of daemons.

Everyone else in the car is asleep. Prompto snores gently in the passenger seat, camera in his lap. Gladio is draped across most of the back seats with Ignis using his shoulder as a pillow in an extremely rare unguarded moment, glasses still awkwardly tilted on his face indicating he never meant to doze off. The sun is fully beneath the horizon, the headlights of the car the only source of illumination. The air is humid and cool as Noctis drapes his arm out the open window and, without any supervision to tell him otherwise, thoroughly breaks the speed limit in a bid to make it to Galdin before one in the morning.

After everything that’s happened, it’s moments like this—wind in his hair, the whole world silent except for the purr of the Regalia’s engine, his friends trusting him enough to let their guard down enough and catch some rest while he drives—that Noctis can finally have a moment to unwind and quit feeling so tense he might snap. Insomnia is a warzone, everything he knew is gone save for the people in the car with him now; it’s reassuring, sometimes, to just shut up and speed down the highway in the dark with no immediate destination in mind. As he speeds down the empty highway, he takes a deep breath of cool desert air, lets out the breath he’s been holding all day.

With a soft _pop_ , the radio murmurs to life. Out of the speakers, crackling with bad connection, floats a voice dripping with soporific gravitas.

“Prom, turn that off,” says Noctis, not paying attention to the radio host. “Iggy and Gladio are… sleeping…”

As he reaches for the radio dial to turn it back off, he glances to the side. Prompto is still snoozing in the passenger seat. There’s no indication he’s moved. The headlights of the Regalia flicker; Noctis checks the rearview mirror for daemons, but the road is clear behind them, clear ahead of them. The sky is empty of Imperial ships. There is just Noctis, alone with the road.

The voice on the radio, between uncomfortable crackles of static and sudden, jarring dial-tone beeps, is saying something about an approaching storm. Noctis looks up again; the sky has never been clearer. Not even a cloud to block out the stars. He slows the car; the breeze is barely blowing.

Whatever channel the radio is tuned to, its host lowly intones, “...the sky bends and coils, the roiling heat distorting even t̞̺̠͉̭͔h͍̤̪̬a̭̻t̰̠ w̤͉̗̫̗̫̜h͙̜̼̦̬̬̦i̭͙̮͈̼̬̠c̠̞͉̼h̞̯̲͙̥̤̼ ̬̘̟͎̙͓̲h̼a͍͚̜̘̝ͅs ͚̩̠͎n̳͇̩̮̮o͉̜͚͖̦ ͉p̝̻̮͉̭͖̙h̻̰̥y̟̜͖s͚̖̘̼̫̣i̫c̱a͍l͖̫̮̟̠͇̰ ̖̙f͓̹̻̥͙o͚̟̝̱̲r͉̳̳̙͍͓̻m͔̦̫̫̮̗͍ ͔̩̟t̰̠̪o̹̦̝̭̻ ̺̩̦̟̼ͅdi̱̞͍͙̹̖̲ș͙̪̦̦̟t͎̤or̗͇̥͍̜̬t.̖ ̥̞̘̳̭̼̟B͎͕̞͓̯͖̭e͖̬̫̮̩n̩͙̭͓e̲̠̲̤a̙̠̜t͈̞h̙̳̗͓ ͉̳̟u̥̙̣̦̪s͕̯̯,̰͕ ̰̘͉̘t̜̮h̯̬͈̯͎e͚͔̠͍̦̰ ̬g̞̹͔͎̟̻̞r͇̲o̙u͇͎̱͇̦͇̯n̫͍̪d ̹v͇͉ḭ͕̪̺̗͉̜b̫͕̥ṛ͙ạ͈͔̻̬ṭ̜̗e̘͚̘̪̪̖s̟̲̥͍. ̝̥͔͉̪̲̣A̱r͓̰̩̫̻͚o͇̰u̘̘͕n̘͓̗̳d̞̥͎͔͓͔̙ u̩s͉̭̳͓͖,̻̜͔̖̹̻̖ ̼t̗̹̗̼̻̮h̪̙̝̫e̞̤̝̻̗̱ ͎a̗̞̰i̖͈͎̙͙͉͈r̹ ̣̣͔͖̪v̩̭̱i̦brates. Above us, the heavens vibrate. You look up, and you see, through e̲͈̞͔͈ͅye̘s̫͕̩͙͇̪ ̳͖l͈̳̦o̞̗͙̫͍̖n͇̗̣̼̥g̤̼͔̪̜̮ ̳̙̭̠͉̦͙b̗̮͉u̹̹̹̟͇r̬̫n͚̳̟̖e̙̮͉̠d ̥ͅa̙̝̻wa̳̫̣̬y̱̭̲͚̭̻ b̦̩y̤̼͚ͅ ͓̭̝͓̝t̼̣͉ẖ̠e̲̪̹̬̯̰̹ ͕͔̟̪̭̭ͅhe̬̖ḁ̣͚̜t̼͈͕͉̜ͅ—̜̹̗”

Noctis presses the off button. Silence retakes the night, broken only by the background hum of the Regalia’s engine and the wheels on the pavement. The air is cool. The sky is empty save for its freckling of stars. No distorting. No burning eyes. Obviously. Why would there be? The rapid pounding of his heart is just, caffeine or something. Iggy doesn’t let anyone touch his dragon’s hoard of Ebony, but it’s probably caffeine.

“And now,” murmurs the voice on the radio, “a look at local traffic: thousands along the western coast find themselves displaced as the oceans rise, entire cities swallowed by the waves. Those unable to escape the seas as they rushed up to e̮̪̝m͉̗̜͎̣̹͕b̬̞͚̹̻̠̣r͍̟͕̮a͉c͔e͕̥̭̜̺ us found them͙̖̘̟̲̻͉s̼̣̱̪̝͇͚ḙ̪̖͚̹̝l̗̰͔̝̻ͅv͙̩͈es̲̠͔̦̣̮͓ d͇͈r̼͙̤̱̞a̤̺̗̖̫w̞̱͕̩̺͙n̗̲̯̳͈ ͍̗i̪̟̳̭͚̺n̪̝͔͕̫ẹ͕͍̣͎x̯̼̖̲̼͎t͉͉r̻̝͍̲̩͈̱ị̯̟c͓̦̣̗a̻̤̻͙̬̯̱b̬̪̭̟̼͓͍ḻ̻͚y̖̤͈ ̩͇̻̼i̝̰̪͇͈̮̮n̝͔͍̺̱ͅt̩̭̮͓̭̞o̜̰͖̜͙̦ͅ ̩̞̝̗the̼ ̥̘ḏ̣̰͙e̼̱͈̰͖̰̘p̭̪t̠͔̭h̤̪s̖̗͈̱̦̹,̳̺̪ ̥͙̘͚̯̗s̰t̻̼͔͇a̲̰r̠͔̱̲̖̙i̜n̬̼̮ͅg ̬̼̞͉̺̘̞d̠ow̦̼̼n͙̮̞͖ ̮̮̯̖͉͕a̰͍̼̭̰t̤ ͙̺͙͇̯͇t̼̜̼͈h̠̺̲̦̹e̞̱̻̯̟̬ e̤͕̼̘̠n͎̺̘d͚̗̻͓̼̮le̪͚̫͍s̻͎̳ͅs,̖̲͎̬̼ ͙̤w̫̣̯r͙̰͚̬ͅi̱͙̼̞̰̰ṭ̬̠̣̪͖h͖̗̺i͙͍n͉͇̻̮̹g͖ ̜f̺̰͉͚̻̮o͓̙̥̻͈͈r̩̫͈̠̣̲̳m̰͍ ͉͚̱̱̪̭͇w̳̬̥̪̳i̘t̩h̳i͈n̠̪͙̻̭͎ ̙̪th̝e̬̱̹̭ ̭̣͚̞̰v̯̭̝̖͖̥̪o̫̹͉̫i̹̳̠̲̙̼d̮̗͍͇̹̦—̟̘̞”

“Astrals, what the _fuck_ ,” Noct hisses. He swerves toward the side of the road and steps on the brakes. He fumbles the radio off once more, throws the car into park, and leans his upper body as heavily as he can on the steering wheel without accidentally setting off the horn. The once-cool night breeze now feels startlingly cold against his skin; he realizes he’s broken out in a cold sweat. As best he can without waking his friend, he tugs Prompto’s jacket out from behind him and drapes it over his shoulders. The night chill abates, a little bit. The roiling unease in the pit of his stomach doesn’t.

“I think it’s Solheim,” says a voice from the backseat, and Noctis jumps five feet out of his skin.

_“Ignis._ ” It takes Noctis an uncomfortably long time to breathe again. His heart is pounding triple its regular speed. “Wait, _what’s_ Solheim?”

Noctis unbuckles his seatbelt and turns around to lean over the back of his seat, pauses, and then turns the car completely off first, leaving the headlights blaring in case of daemons even in the harsh glow of the roadside streetlamps. In the back seat, Ignis is still half-asleep and using Gladio as both pillow and space heater, although he’s adjusted his glasses back onto his nose.

“The radio,” he says, matter-of-factly, as if that’s supposed to explain anything. “I’ve noticed when we drive near certain locations at night—sites of old battles, or locations that later turned out to be Royal Tombs, for example—the radio gets a little bit… odd. I tried to listen to it properly, once. Caught a whole broadcast about a light up on a mountain and an advancing army. Thought the Imperials were coming until they mentioned the town’s name and it was nowhere I’d ever heard of.”

“And you think it’s coming from _Solheim_?”

“Or some other bygone era, perhaps, although most anything chronologically after Solheim wouldn’t have had the technology for radio. Nothing like the places it describes sounds anything like the Lucis of now, anyway,” Ignis muses. “And that broadcast just now was certainly reminiscent of the Astral War.”

Noctis purses his lips so tightly it feels like they might bruise. In the distance, in the woods, he sees a dark, rising structure, flickering with the dull red light of old arcane runes. He hears it in his head again, _Above us, the heavens vibrate_.

“Magic does tend to distort reality in peculiar ways, and time-space in particular can be particularly susceptible to, ah, odd shit. Incidentally,” Ignis adds, “although you never asked, _this_ is why I prefer not to drive at night.”

Noctis scoffs. “Because we pick up radio waves from some weird Solheim-era horrorshow whenever we drive by places where people died?” He pretends he isn’t still shivering, but the quirk of Ignis’ eyebrow says it hasn’t gone unnoticed. Noctis still hasn’t taken his eyes off the dark tower, just barely off the side of the road into the trees.

Ignis doesn’t appear to notice it, at least not yet. Or if he is, he’s pretending it’s not there far more successfully than Noctis is. Instead, he says, “Looks to be a haven just up ahead. Shall we wake these two?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Noctis agrees. He throws Prompto’s jacket back at him and hops gracelessly out of the car as his friend splutters awake in the shotgun seat. Just over the crest of a nearby slope, he sees the familiar rising smoke and blue aura of a haven, and he makes a beeline for it, pausing only to yank the camping chairs out of the trunk of the Regalia. If he walks away from the car and its radio a little bit faster than normal, well... Ignis is the only one who might’ve noticed, and he’s caught up to Noctis in no time at all.


End file.
